


From Now On

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gift Fic, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: ~*~ Gift fic for Cellis ~*~... May or may not work as a 'stand alone' - takes place after both Fallout and my earlier fics, Learning Curve & Justified.... The bad news Ethan has to deliver to Will has an unexpected outcome.





	From Now On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cellis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cellis/gifts).



> ~ Narrated by Ethan & Self-betad.
> 
> ~ At the risk of repeating myself, this is a gift fic for Cellis to say 'thank you for taking the time to leave so many lovely comments. I really appreciate it, and, as you specifically requested an 'up date' on Learning Curve, I really hope you like this'. :-) (No longer feeling quite so guilty at not having been able to write anything for you, I may even be able to get around to replying to some of them now!)
> 
> ~ The Greatest Showman title / lyrics was just a happy coincidence (because, my God, do I love that movie!) as it only came to me as I was writing the ending. It was originally called 'Something's Got To Give'.

============  
From Now On  
by TalithaX  
============

 

“No. You absolutely did the right thing by asking me to call. Just... Leave it with me. I'll make all the arrangements and see you soon.” 

Ending the call, I gently – even though to be perfectly honest all I really feel like doing is throwing it forcefully against the wall and watching it, the bearer of bad news, shatter into pieces – place my cell down on the table and, with a sigh, turn on the laptop before walking across the room and coming to a silent stop in the doorway to the suite's bedroom. Will, as much to my surprise as my relief, continues to sleep soundly in the bed. Surprise, because in all the time I've known him he's been a light sleeper prone to waking with a start at the quietest of noises, and relief, not so much because it delays the inevitable but because it gives me the time to make all the required arrangements before he wakes and learns that, well, things are – yet again – far removed from what they were when he went to sleep.

It's not a particularly nice thought, knowing that I effectively have to stitch Will up in regards to achieving what, in this instance, isn't just the right outcome but also the... only... outcome, but... It is what it is and, as always, I'll do exactly what it is I have to do. While there are those deluded – and with clearly little else to do with their time – enough to consider me the living, breathing embodiment of stubbornness and determination all in the name of the so-called greater good, I know in myself that I'm a mere beginner in these stakes compare to Will. Sure, I put myself out and do things that, to be perfectly honest here, I'd really rather not do if given the choice, but, if I have to, I'll do it. End of story.

Will, though... Most of the things I've known him to put himself through haven't been because he's had to, but because he's chosen, both calmly and rationally, to. Me? By the very nature of the situations I'm somehow blessed on a regular basis to find myself in, I just throw myself straight into the thick of things with little or no thought of anything other than... Now. Whatever you're going to do, you've got to do it NOW.

So I jump, or teach myself to fly a helicopter – most definitely no pun intended – on the fly, or whatever, and it's usually over and done with, notwithstanding the healing time for any physical injuries picked up over the course of this latest burst of insanity on my part, in a relatively short of period of time. Once I've healed, I move on. Again, end of story. Will, on the other hand, he'll step into the abyss for months on end and the damage he carries whenever it comes to an end, regardless of what he's more often than not allowed to be done to his body, is always more mental than physical. 

I do it because I know, right at that exact moment, that I have to, that there's no other way.

He does it solely because he... feels... he has to, not because of any other reason.

And the things he's done, they...

… Leave me in awe. They really do.

Go undercover in a drug ring, with no training and while simultaneously going cold turkey from a serious drug addiction and continuing to let his body be used by all and sundry? I know I couldn't have done it. Not at his age, and certainly not as a civilian, who, I might add, had never shown any interest in being in law enforcement. I also, given that the stakes weren't quite yet dire, would have exhausted all other options before returning to that world to get the intel we needed just over three years ago in Vegas. Will, who I swear has made an art form out of always putting his own needs and wants last, though just walked out of our suite without a word of explanation to anyone and did it. He'd decided that he could get what we needed and, without any thought as to what it would to him, off he went.

I admire him.

I also love him, and hate knowing that his sense of duty trumps everything else.

Be dragged from field work and the team he'd finally found himself to be comfortable with to – be hung out to dry by the IMF – front the Senate Committee? Sure. Okay.

Be kept from returning to the field because Hunley – let's face it here, and to hell with speaking ill of the dead, knew he was more intelligent than he was – insisted on him remaining in the office and basically running things for him? Sure. Okay.

Spend the last four months seconded to the FBI, the organisation that saw him spend his thirtieth birthday in hospital after nearly dying thanks to being set up by a fellow agent, in Boston because they desperately needed his expertise in catching a serial killer who was back in action after thirteen years of silence? Well... As Hunley magnanimously said it was okay, sure...

He's done all of this and more because, basically, he knows no other way.

Duty first.

Always.

Only...

… Not this time.

God knows I have no control over Will, and there's every chance he'll get antsy with me when I tell him that not only have the plans changed but that they're also set in stone, but I don't care.

I'll do it, and, because I know I have to, I'll force his hand. I'll negate his argument for duty needing to always come first by, foreign though this concept will seem, putting him first.

I wish I didn't have to, but then again I also wish I'd never had that phone call and was still sound asleep in bed, next to my lover, the man I haven't seen for four long months and who, unless I'm mistaken, is slowly unravelling around the seams from being put under far too much stress.

He shouldn't still be asleep.

It's ridiculous, as I'm glad that he is, but at the same time it's far from normal. In the three years we've more or less – given first the IMF's, then, okay, my personal 'thing' against the Syndicate, and then Hunley all but putting him on a leash keeping us apart for great expanses of time – been together he's always woken the moment I so much as sat up in bed. Even if he was exhausted he'd still spring to consciousness if I moved. It was just one of those things I took for granted. Light sleeper. Fine. Whatever. Everyone's definition of normal is, after all, different. 

Just like the news I'm going to have to deliver to him, I don't like it, that's all.

Biting back a sigh, I step back from the doorway and return to the table. Taking a seat, I open up email and... engage autopilot. I know what I have to do, and I know how to do it. What I don't necessarily need to do is... think... about it. So I don't. I write my email to the Acting Secretary advising – as opposed to seeking his permission – of the change in plans and once it's been sent turn my vague at best attention to composing one to send to Luther and Benji. They won't like it, this 'spanner in the works' either, but, Benji, I know will at least understand. As for Luther, well, he's been around me long enough to take anything in his stride and will just suck it up with a shrug and a roll of his eyes.

Emails sent, I move on to booking the first available flights from London to Los Angeles and have just seen conformation of the boarding passes having been sent to my phone when Will silently materialises in the doorway. Weary, not to mention immediately wary, looking and dressed only in black cotton pyjama pants that sit low on his lean hips and only serve to highlight how much weight he lost in Boston, he looks over at me and, as I reluctantly meet his gaze, frowns.

“Ethan? If something relating to the mission has come up you should have woken me to help,” he states, still frowning as he moves away from the door and makes to come over to the table. “I read all the reports on the flight, so I...”

“It's not the mission,” I interrupt, pushing the chair back and standing up. “It's...” Still not entirely sure how I'm going to break this to him, I trail off and, walking over to the sofa, take a seat. “Here. Come and sit with me.”

“I...” His frown giving way to an expression of suspicion, Will nonetheless does as requested and joins me, albeit up the other end, on the on the sofa. “Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like whatever it is you've got to tell me,” he murmurs in a soft, resigned tone that, just as seeing him asleep did, sends warning signs through my nerve endings and puts me even more on edge.

He...

He's not the Will I know. 

But...

… I knew that already.

From the moment I opened the motel door to find him smiling tiredly at me earlier this evening, I could tell that things were different.

That...

… Finally it appeared as though something was going to have to give.

Being nothing if not creatures of habit in our own, no doubt peculiar to just about everyone else, way, our reunions, bar Morocco, have always followed a familiar path. If they took place in public, say HQ or in a bar, then they were casual. Just friends, if not mere acquaintances, meeting up. Hi. Good to see you. How's things? The only real difference in meeting up somewhere private, like in either of our homes or a motel room, was that the blandly polite greeting would be prefaced by an awkward hug and always far too brief kiss. It was never a cause for concern, as once the discussion as to what we'd been up to since we were last together was out of the way, Will, his natural wariness of relaxing around anyone having been assuaged, would thaw out and generally within an hour or so we'd be fine. Knowing a little too well how Will's overly complex mind – and its well entrenched definitions of self-preservation – operate, I never took it personally as I always knew, with just a bit of patience, that'd we'd eventually pick up where we last left off and that our strange, but incredibly special and worked at, relationship would continue on.

We never, not once, though raised the question of whether it was worth it, or whether we should just admit defeat in that work was forever going to get in the way and go our seperate ways. I love Will, and while it might pain me to spend so much time away from him, just knowing that he's both somewhere, and wanting to see me again as much I was wanting to see him, was enough of a comfort in itself. And I know, even without him having come out and said it in as many words, that he feels the same way.

What we have, fucked though it may seem, works because, hey, once again in our ways, we're pretty fucked up ourselves.

I miss him, though. When we're apart, as the months drag on and, finding ourselves pulled in every direction, emails and phone calls begin to falter, I miss him with something akin to an actual ache. Not the sex, although I'd have to be in a bad way to ever say no to it, or even the way he feels in my arms once he's given in and relaxed, but just simply being able to see him and hear his voice. I like... knowing he's there. In the next room, not thousands of miles away and without any form of a definite time frame in regards to when I might finally see him again.

Waking in that field hospital in Kashmir a fortnight ago, all I felt was...

… Disappointment.

Not a sense of achievement at having foiled Lane and Walker's quite frankly heinous plan. Not even relief at the sight of my friends, still alive and in one piece, standing around the bed and smiling at me.

Just...

… Disappointment that Will wasn't there.

Logic told me that he couldn't be, that he would have been entrenched in the serial killer case in Boston and most likely none the wiser to my decrepit state, and I neither hated nor blamed him for this, but...

… It still hurt.

A lot.

Getting the news that the Boston assignment had been successfully concluded at that, as the Acting Secretary had his own trusted... minion... to oversee things, Will was going to join up with Luther, Benji and myself here in London before heading for a mission in Beijing was meant to be something of a new beginning. He was going to be back in the field, back... with me, and to say I was looking forward to his arrival is an understatement of massive proportions. Hell. I was positively excited. The team was going to be back together, things were going to return to how they'd been when I'd finally worked my way through his defences and we'd first gotten together.

It was, or so I happily told myself, going to be one of those... 'good things come to those wait' scenarios.

Only...

When I opened the door, instead of breezing in and asking how I was, Will dropped his bag and quite literally fell into my arms. Taken aback by this, but certainly not complaining, I hugged him tightly and, as I tried not to think about what exactly was going on here, felt how thin he was through his clearly new suit. Then, with barely a word spoken between us, we were in the bedroom, shedding clothes at a great rate and collapsing onto the bed. Yes. We had sex. Mind blowingly good sex that went on until, having nothing left to give, we fell asleep in each other's arms. But it was also more than that. Far more. And instead of simply being about a means to an end that had been far too long coming, it was about...

… Need.

Raw, unleashed need that swept us both up in it and took us through a range of sensations and emotions that I, for one, had honestly never experienced before.

I tried not to think anything of it because I... didn't want to.

Our status quo may not have been great, but it was familiar and worked.

Will suddenly changing this by letting, even if he didn't verbally say as much, his feelings show was, dare I say it, unusual and perhaps just that bit unnerving. 

So I ignored it.

Went along for the ride. Fell contently to sleep. Woke to the sound of a text message on my cell. Read it. Tensed up inside. Reluctantly got out of bed. Pulled on robe. Made the call I didn't want to make. Had worrying thoughts about Will sleeping through all of this that I didn't want to have. Set what I had to in motion, and...

… Here we are.

In a position that neither of us were prepared for or want to be in, and just having to muddle through.

“Will, I...” Sitting up a little straighter, I grimace and, for no reason other than I know I have to, that there's no easier way, go for it. “A message from Harry's daughter, Caroline, came through on my phone asking that I call her,” I state matter-of-factly as, most likely knowing what's to follow, Will visibly tenses. “Will, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but Harry's dead. He had a massive coronary a couple of days ago at his fishing cabin and couldn't be revived. I... Caroline assured me that he went instantly and didn't suffer, and she was taking comfort from the fact he was somewhere that he loved, and... I... I'm just so sorry.” 

Harry Longmire.

FBI Special Agent, all round good man, and both Will's mentor and saviour. In many ways, given everything he did for him and how much I know he meant to him, more of a father figure to Will than he's own father, who I get the impression was distant and more interested in making money than his only child, was.

Having met him on a couple of occassions, I liked him too. Still a big man, even when well in his seventies, and with an even bigger, bushy moustache, he could talk for hours and, having heard the words come out of his mouth myself, he thought of Will as another son.

Knowing that without Harry's influence on his life Will probably wouldn't even still be alive, let alone having crossed my path at the IMF and quickly – even if was unbeknownst to him at the time – ingratiating himself in my life, I've always felt as though I too owe him for having stepped in and taken charge of Will's downward spiral when so many others wouldn't have.

Noticing that Will is staring at me somewhat blankly, his favourite unreadable expression – the one that always used to bug the hell out of me before I knew his past and just why it was he was so wary of letting anyone close – firmly in place, I quickly decide that I simply need to press on. “If you're wondering why Caroline contacted me first, it was because she hoped we'd be together as it was the sort of... uh... news that's better shared in person. She also deliberately chose to wait until now to tell you because, knowing how busy you always are, she wanted to be able to give you the date of the funeral so that you could start making plans. It's...”

“It doesn't matter when it is,” Will interrupts – completely predictably and instantly proving I was right to have taken matters into my own hands – in a flat, emotionless tone that goes perfectly with his expression, “as the mission...”

“The funeral is the day after tomorrow,” I continue, talking over the top of Will as though he'd never even opened his mouth. “As Caroline had hoped, that gives us enough time to...”

“Again, it doesn't matter when the funeral is,” he grinds out as the first hint of emotion enters his voice, “as we'll be in Beijing. The mission...”

“Is no longer our concern,” I finish, delivering my coup de grâce with a grim smile. “Uh... Let's just say my crystal ball foreshadowing how you'd react, I...”

“But... The mission...”

“Fuck the mission.”

“Our job...”

“Actually, that's just it. It isn't ours. I've already emailed the Acting Secretary informing him that we're no longer available and that he'll have to find someone else to join Luther and Benji in Beijing. I've also booked flights to LA that leave from Heathrow in give or take six hours, so...” Pausing, I reach across the sofa and place my hand lightly on Will's knee. “It's a done deal. I understand your sense of duty, and I was looking forward to finally sharing a mission with you again too, but... Listen to me. Some things are just more important. Harry meant a lot to you and it's only right that you're there to pay your final respects to him.”

“I...” His shoulders slumping as, realising that I've bulldozed him into a corner, Will sighs softly and gazes down at my hand as it rests on his knee. “You didn't have to...”

“Perhaps not,” I reply with a small shrug, “but I don't regret it. Will... I get it, I do, but this has to be given priority and, deep down, you know it. Besides, as Caroline is hoping you'll be one of the pall bearers, you have to be there.”

“I... Damn!” It all suddenly becoming far too real to him, Will gets abruptly his feet and, hugging his arms around his chest, goes to stand by the window. “I don't know if I can...”

“Of course you can,” I interrupt, swivelling around on the sofa to better face him. “You can, and you will. It'll no doubt be hard, but you know as well as I do that when you put your mind to something you can do just about anything.”

“What you're really saying there is that... given some of the things I've done, this is nothing,” Will comments wryly as, sighing, he rests his back against the window and gazes up at the ceiling.

“Not nothing, no. Far from it, in fact,” I respond, quickly choosing against agreeing too readily with him for fear of bringing up memories neither of us are in need of. “More... Suck it up and get with the program. The mission is history, you're going to the funeral, I'll be there with you, and, as it would clearly mean a lot to the family, you're going to be a pall bearer. End of the conversation.”

“And to think people call me stubborn,” he mutters, lowering his head and giving me a brief, not to mentioned forced looking, smile. “But... Thank you. Thank you for taking charge and for... uh... just being here. I... I don't know how I'd have taken the news if I'd heard it on my own.”

Shrugging, I shake my head and flash him a force smile of my own in return. “There's nothing to thank me for, and... I am here, so don't waste your time on thinking about alternative scenarios. I also liked Harry and, needless to say, have my own reasons for being grateful to him. So it would mean a lot to me to be able to pay my last respects to him as well.”

“I...” Tilting his head back, Will returns to staring up at the ceiling before, after a few moments have passed, adding in a quiet voice, “I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Harry...”

“I know.” Standing up, I move over to the table and, knowing from experience that Will currently needs his personal space more than he needs me looming over him in my clumsy attempts to offer comfort, take a seat in the chair in front of the laptop.

“He could have just ignored me like all of the other agents...”

“But he didn't. He listened to you and stood by you.”

“I... I couldn't have done it without his trust and... faith in me. Without Harry, I...”

“As it doesn't bear thinking about,” I offer softly, “just... Don't. Don't go there, Will. All you ever need to know is that he... was... there for you.”

“He... He didn't have to come to Boston and call in a favour to get me into the IMF...”

“But he did, and here you are. Here... we... are.”

“I...” Nodding, Will looks over at me and, this time, dredges up a wan, yet far more believable smile. “I don't know if you knew this, but I actually lived with Harry and his family for a couple of months after the raid on Masters' operations,” he states, turning around to gaze out the window. “After my false arrest had been finalised and I'd been released, I just stood out the front of the FBI office like I was in shock or something. It... It was over. I'd done everything I could to get justice for Toby's death, but, I don't know, it's almost as though, not really having imagined this day ever coming, it was like I was numb. I also had... nothing. Masters' compound having been my life, I had nowhere to go and, ridiculous as it may sound given all the money I had locked away in the banks from my parents, nor did I have any cash. Just... Instead of a sense of achievement, all I felt was lost. Then... As I stood there, frozen to the spot and not knowing which way to turn, Harry appeared by my side, grabbed my arm, and, muttering something about a celebratory dinner, marched me to his car. Too... vague... to argue, if I thought anything it would have been that he probably would have taken me to a diner and that would have been the end of it. But... No...”

Pausing, Will turns back around and returns to his position of resting his shoulder blades against the window. “He took me home with him,” he continues a tad breathlessly, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he looks not so much at me as in my general vicinity. “He... Ethan... I might have been clean from drugs, but I was still pretty much just a scrawny looking whore that anyone in their right mind would have crossed the street to avoid, yet, he... He took me into his home, introduced me to Hannah, his wife, and Caroline who was still in high school at the time, and calmly announced that not only was I going to share a meal with his family, but that I was also more than welcome to stay with them for as long as I needed. I... Shit!” 

Wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, he takes a deep, steadying breath, before, clearly determined to get to the end of his tale, picking up where he left off. “Just like out the front of the FBI, I just stood there mutely, not knowing how to respond or how to do... anything... really. Hannah though, she... she just took charge. Having obviously been worded up by Harry before hand, she took me to the guest room, pointed out where the bathroom was, and told me that dinner would be in a quarter of an hour. Pathetically, I actually toyed with the idea of making a run for it because I didn't feel worthy of their kindness and hospitality, but before I could convince my feet to move away from the foot of the bed, Caroline arrived with towels and some of Chris' clothes to borrow as... 'he was away at college and wouldn't care anyway', and... Oh God... Don't ask me why or how, but suddenly I felt okay. It was over. I wasn't alone as, despite having no reason to stand by me, Harry saw enough... good... in me to invite me into his family, and I felt better. Better than I had for a very long time, and... You're right. Of course you're right. I have to be at the funeral and I... I have to find the strength to carry his coffin. It... It's the least I can do given everything he's ever done for me.”

Coming to an abrupt stop as tears fall silently down his pale cheeks, Will locks his very wide, and very bright eyes on mine and reaches out a trembling hand towards me in an open invitation to join him. “Ethan... I... Even before this, I... I should have said something earlier. It's just, I... I can't do this anymore,” he stammers as I quickly join him by the window and pull him against me.

“Hey... Shhh... Of course you can,” I soothe, despite feeling as clueless as I do helpless in regards to whatever it is that's suddenly got Will so worked up, as I hug him tightly. “Come on, Will... I know Harry's death has come as a shock and that you're going to miss him, but...”

“It's not just Harry,” Will mumbles, cutting me off as, with a sniff, he slides his arms around my waist and relaxes into my embrace. “It... It's everything. I've just... I've had enough and I... I can't go on like this.”

“Go on like...” Common sense stepping in and stopping me from asking the obvious, I rub my hand along the cool skin of Will's back and, changing tack slightly, murmur, “Talk to me. I'm here, and I'm listening, and you know I'll always do anything to help you that I can. Will... It's okay. I get that it mightn't feel like at it the moment, but it is.”

“I...” Sniffing again, Will, with a quick squeeze that, not that I'm going to tell him, I can feel all the way through to my still more than a little damaged ribs, steps back and gives me a miserable look. “Harry's death is just like the final straw,” he states dully as, avoiding my eyes, he looks down at nothing in particular on the floor. “Ethan... Hunley, he... He might have been a bit of a dick at times, but I liked him well enough and now he's dead. Boston was... Hell, it was repellent and, along with hardly sleeping, there were times when I honestly thought the case was just going to go on indefinitely. Then... You...” His breath catching in his throat, Will jerks his head up and, for all of split second, looks me in the eye. “You almost... You... could have... died in Kashmir. And I can't... I've just had enough and can't do it anymore.”

“Can't do...”

“You mightn't want to hear this,” Will interrupts, taking a hesitant step towards me, “you might even react in the... uh... complete opposite way to what I'm hoping for, but I... This being apart all the time. I... I want it to stop. I've had enough of these ongoing separations and I... I just want to be with you. Damn it! I want to be there if you need me and... uh... I still want to be there even if you don't...”

I. Want.

Two words I don't think I've ever heard come out of Will's mouth before. Or, if I have, they certainly wouldn't have been in regards to his own wishes or desires. It's just, in all the time I've known him, never been his way. He's never put himself first and has always just taken what, in a sense, has been dished out to him. It's how he is. How I've accepted him and... made my peace with.

Yet...

He just said it.

He effectively just said...

… I want you.

Me.

He wants...

… Me.

He's laid – himself bare – his cards on the table, and what he wants is...

… Exactly what I want.

To be done with this constant separation bullshit, and – come what freakin' may, given the lives we've chosen to live – just be together, and in whatever way that works, as much as we possibly can. Not in a delusional, picket fence, happily ever after sort of way, but in a way that works for us. IMF. Field work. Or... Perhaps not, even. As I most likely countered every selfless decision made by Will with a selfish one – the whole six months lost to The Syndicate, the blinkered belief I've held for so long that it's field work or nothing – of my own, it will ultimately be something we have to discuss and agree on. Whatever it is we end up doing though, it'll be side by side as opposed to doing our own thing on the other side of the world.

Just...

… Together.

And I get it now. From the way he reacted when I opened the door, to how he was able to continue sleeping after I'd snuck out of bed. 

It wasn't just exhaustion. It was relief. Pure and simple relief at finally having made it through whatever happened in Boston, and at just, at long last, seeing the light at the end of what has been a very long and dark tunnel.

Maybe he wouldn't have spoken up if it hadn't been for the unpleasant shock of Harry's death, and maybe, because if it's to deal with his own, usually quite suppressed emotions, it's always something he's had to put a lot of thought into first, he would have. It's not something I'll ever know, and nor does it matter, as...

… All that matter is this.

“Of course it's what I want to hear,” I declare with a broad smile as I grab Will by the waist and, as he both allows this without hesitation and cautiously returns my smile, once again pull him warmly against me. “I've had as enough of this as you have,” I continue, planting a kiss on the top of his head, “and of course I want us to be together.”

Cupping my cheeks in the palms of his hands, Will rests his forehead against mine for a couple of seconds before settling his lips on mine for an all too brief kiss. “From now on...”

I nod. “From now on...”

What needed to be said having been – unexpectedly, yet wondrously – said, and our intentions both clear and something to look forward to, I hug Will even more tightly and press my lips to his for a far more thorough kiss.

From now on, indeed.

~ end ~

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

From now on  
These eyes will not be blinded by the lights  
From now on  
What's waited till tomorrow starts tonight  
Tonight  
Let this promise in me start  
Like an anthem in my heart  
From now on

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


End file.
